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Danny looked over at Rikki, who was apparently now crying.

What?

Woah wait.

What?

"Screech," she said, jostling his shoulder a little and pulling him into a one-armed hug. "What's wrong?" She did her best to block him off from everyone else with her wings, but there was only so much you could do to hide a teenage boil.

She looked over at Roch and Amphi worriedly. Were they going to cry too? WHAT WAS GOING ON?

Zar kept up tidying the papers insistently as long as he could, tail flicking irritably as the filing systems available to him for use - bins and the like - proved inefficient and limited, he even made a fairly valiant attempt to tune out the voices of the other students. Mere distractions from his purpose.

And then something went wrong.

There was a moment when everything seemed to still to a halt, peaceful, void of everything - a hollow place the world seemed reluctant to fill. It felt good at least at first, but then the relief became that of paralysis, of the momentary brush of death between dissapation and reforming, of sleep - such a rare thing for Zar these days - and waking.

He found himself gasping aloud as the voice was heard, everywhere and nowhere.

And the world became as monochrome as he was, the colour leeching away, bleeding off in the wake of the kissing curling fog. It took him a moment to discern that he was no longer simply amongst the booths, he had company. The figures he could hardly believe, flat denial of logic and the evidence his eyes normally provided. His cold and razor sharp mind balked at them, nowhere to be seen before and then suddenly irrefutably present.

Home.

He'd been sure on the island that he'd known where home was. It had been his room with Nuru, together and happy. But home had come up lacking. It wasn't the home he sought.

The sudden surge of longing robbed him of breath once again, a lifting surge of love and want, a perfect and beautiful place, the ideal concept of home, a connection that he couldn't deny or resist. It overcame for a moment all the icy sterile walls the demon had build around himself, reached out to that desire for belonging, for a place he truly connected with. It was deep, profound and he wanted to hold to it together - it made him feel alive.

And then, as simply as it had come it was gone, leaving nothing but the hollow emptiness so gaping and yearning it made him want to cry out in sorrow at the undefined loss. It was grief, it was aching and left the world feeling somehow incomplete.

He crossed his arms and laid his claws on finely tailored suit elbows. Home.

In the midst of everything, Sparrow stood with his hands at his sides, his eyes narrowed slightly, his face paler than usual. He did not make any sudden movements as the feelings of longing and loneliness swept over him like a tidal wave, but instead slowly lifted a hand, absently smoothing his fingers over the cravat at his neck. It was simultaneously confusing and unpleasant, and he felt as though anything that happened after this would not be welcome.

He felt oddly out of place, and the uncomfortable feeling persisted, nagged at him.

We should get out of here, he thought, shaking his head a little, as though trying to clear his thoughts. But his mind felt foggy, laden down with a swirl of emotions and things he could not sort through or move aside so easily. Sparrow took a single step, and then stopped, swaying a little.

I don't want to be here. Let's get out of here.

But it seemed no one was moving, Sparrow included. He opened his eyes again and shook his head once more, lifting a white-gloved hand to press his fingers against his temple, which had started to throb unpleasantly.

What's going on?

Tybalt might have started when the gryphon suddenly appeared, leaning on him. He had expected that he would show up at some point or other, he had called him after all. But at this point in time, just about everything, every sudden movement, had the black dog on edge. Which, judging the gryphon's expression, it clear that Ren was feeling the same.

"Hey...Hey Ren!" He snapped his fingers twice in front of Ren's face, as though it would magically snap him out of it. Not that he blamed him, he was pretty much in the same state himself. What the hell was this powerful that it could have such an influence over the entire student body?

"Is LW and Jove with you?" He asked, now looking past the taller boil for the familiar red head and the short blue haired boil.

Christof's hand on Amrita's shoulder moved her, but only so far as a heavy hand on a thin shoulder could. Otherwise the Vetala remained still, staring forward with ever unfocused eyes.

"Pretty much, and its only getting worse with each passing second Shun." Damien said gravely. He had his own kin to worry about, like silly old Levi that just might try and wrassle with the fog beings. The last thing he needed was to know that the tatzel was safe and not falling for any insanity like Jericho. "If we are going anywhere, you are not moving solo, shadowstep or not." he told the reaper and poked at his arm for good measure.

"But I do agree with you Xiu, and you too as well Roch, It might be best to get a move on while we still can, if we can." he continued, it didn't seem like anyone was stuck in place as far as the pup could see, yet no one wanted to take that first step away. Like all hell would break loose once the first person attempted to high tail it out of there.

It Made his hair stand on end and seeing Thack staring at his Eyephone was not helping as he gently pulled the fellow canine by his side. "Come, its not safe to be by yourself like this Thack." he grumbled out.

Pups had to look out for one another, hellhounds for life.

"LW! Hey!" For a few moments it was normalcy. Bells left his arm in peace to go suffocate LW, and Mort grinned a wide grin and waved her over, glad to see an old teammate. "Mrrr, no . . . Knew middle name," he muttered to Alex as he waved. "No-one 'cept Mom knows that." And while his bro had a point that they should probably leave . . . Mort was quite planted in place. He was ever struck with the notion that if he left in the middle of something important he'd forever regret it, painful or not.

He was also struck with another notion of getting safety in numbers like a true zombie, and so he was opening his mouth to greet Calder when the fog began to thicken. The hairs on the back of his neck went up again as a distinctly eerie feeling crept upon him, along with the strangest and least wanted nostalgia. The last time he had been in this sort of mist had been on the Isles . . . And that alone was enough to hit his buttons, but then Mort began to pick out half-formed silhouettes in the mist - and as one they began reverberating in his mind, an incessant murmur that made him stiffen and want to drown out sound -

- and that was what happened. He was assaulted with memories that were not his own and nearly drowned in the river of emotions that followed them, enough so to illicit a choked gasp as he staggered back. No, no, no! Not again! And even as he willed them away, even as the memories suddenly stopped, the emptiness that followed was even worse and made him narrow his eyes against the ache of longing in his chest. Vulnerable. Alone.

No, no, not alone, not if he could help it.

Blindly a hand sought through the mist until it found Belladonna's arm, and without preamble he yanked her to him and clutched at her hand with a secure Death Grip. "Stay," he half-growled, half-whined. "D-Don't dare let go." Amrita was asking something he didn't hear, so focused was Mort on forming a group again. Alex he knew was nearby, but still he took the effort to locate him as well and clasp the other zomboil's shoulder briefly, and if LW and Calder were still around then they too would receive a quick touch just so that he could remind himself that this was real, not his nightmare, and that if he amassed just enough people for a horde they'd be safe, everything would be fine, just fine . . . And all the while the witch was kept close enough that she could feel him trembling slightly, either from restrained panic or an anxious burst of adrenaline in his systems.

Horde. Zombies needed their horde. He didn't want to go Home, he didn't, even as his core roiled within and a part of his mind said he should.

"Amrita . . .?" His voice was small as he made to touch her shoulder as well, but a lumbering figure made him stop and curl his hand into a sparking fist. But it was only Christof coming to check on her; Mort relented but looked no less grim as he nodded his greeting to the igor, on edge and not apologetic.

Riyo kept shaking the boil for a moment, desperate eyes searching him for some sign of comfort. Some shred of that boil who had been caring for her all this time. She needed him now more than any moment before. The whole thing frightened her more than anything should've been able to. It shook her foundation and sent her into a panic, her little heart beating rapidly with the feel of some sort of serpent licking at their heels.

Then, slowly, reluctantly, unblinking, her efforts slowed.

"Deacon?"

And stopped when Riyo's body stiffened. He was... He was right there. But he wasn't.

She was losing time.

"D-deacon..." The ghoul whimpered, her ears drooping. "You don't have to go to that place... That's not home. This is..."